


Around the Campfire

by Bofursunboundbraids



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Camping, Eating, F/M, Kissing, M/M, Post BotFA, Suggestive Themes, Wine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-09
Updated: 2018-09-09
Packaged: 2019-07-10 06:45:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15943934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bofursunboundbraids/pseuds/Bofursunboundbraids
Summary: “I can smell the meat on the fire.” Thorin’s voice, barely more than a breath, low and thick like wood smoke, wound its way through Bilbo, stoking a primal flame deep within. He, too, could smell the roasting meat and his stomach rumbled. His hands went to calm it, but Thorin’s were already there.“I’m hungry, Thorin.” He clasped his husband’s hands, bringing them to his lips, one at a time.Thorin chuckled, peppering kisses on cheeks and ears, making his hobbit laugh. “You are always hungry, my love.” He relaxed, allowing Bilbo to turn in his arms. “As am I.”





	Around the Campfire

**Author's Note:**

> It's still summer, right?
> 
> A huge THANK YOU to aquilea-of-the-lonely-mountain for once again organizing another wonderful fic writing challenge! 
> 
> My prompt was 'camping' which is funny because I've always had a sort of love/hate relationship when it comes to roughing it in the great outdoors. Thank goodness for campgrounds with bathrooms! Of course, when it comes to adventuring in Middle-earth, what could be better than sleeping under the light of Eärendil with the hobbit/dwarf/elf/man/other of one's desire?
> 
> I also like to think this takes place in a pre-Riddles in the Dark re-write world. Sometimes magic rings are just that.
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

Bilbo stood in the tent’s arched opening, watching the bustle of the camp. Dwarves, here and there, erected shelters, raised banners, and tended to goats and ponies with an efficiency he had become well acquainted with but still found fascinating to witness. He had offered to help, but they had only bowed their low bows, long beards puddling on the ground, “ _My lord_ ” murmured in voices so deep Bilbo truly believed they came from organs made of ancient stone, by Mahal himself, and powered by fiery bellows. So he stood back and watched and marveled at it all.

“Bilbo.”

His lips curled into a smile as weighted footfalls came up behind him.

“ _Ghivashel_.” He whispered and, leaning his head to the side, with no conscious effort, Bilbo exposed his neck to nuzzles and kisses that warmed and tickled. Arms came around him, thick and strong. He closed his eyes and sighed.

“I can smell the meat on the fire.” Thorin’s voice, barely more than a breath, low and thick like wood smoke, wound its way through him, stoking a primal flame deep within. He, too, could smell the roasting meat and his stomach rumbled. His hands went to calm it, but Thorin’s were already there.

“I’m hungry, Thorin.” He clasped his husband’s hands, bringing them to his lips, one at a time.

Thorin chuckled, peppering kisses on cheeks and ears, making his hobbit laugh. “You are always hungry, my love.” He relaxed, allowing Bilbo to turn in his arms. “As am I.”

They shared a look that communicated everything they held in their minds, and they might have taken their thoughts back inside, behind a closed tent flap, if it hadn’t been for the arrival of the Lady Dís’ dam-in-waiting, come with a message for her lady’s brother, the King Under the Mountain. Dís wished to know the king’s thoughts on which wine casks should be presented with the evening meal. Thorin was quick to suggest the full-bodied red, the one with a breath of oak and cherries. This pleased Bilbo immensely, for it was his favorite.

“Imagine if we had had wine with us on our previous traipse across the countryside.” Bilbo said, his eyes following Thorin back into the tent.

Thorin chuckled, as he collected swords. “Durin’s day would have been long past by the time we reached the mountain.”

“Perhaps.” Bilbo thought back on the adventure that had brought him east, away from his home and all that he knew, to this new world he had come to love. “More than likely we would’ve found ourselves on the wrong end of an orc’s pike.”

“Or a spider’s tasty meal.” Gathering up Bilbo’s jacket of quilted blue silk, Thorin returned to his love’s side. “I’m afraid, my jewel, we never would have reached the mountain. And we certainly would not have made it without you.” Words like these never failed to make Bilbo blush, but he still managed to belt on his fierce little Sting, and slip into his jacket to ward off the chill of an early summer evening.

“Ready?” Thorin asked as he took Bilbo’s hand in his own. He was answered with a squeeze and the happy nod of his hungry hobbit’s head. So, with a small coterie of guards around them, Thorin, King Oakenshield, led his prince towards the glorious smells of joints roasting over open fires.

“I was sure my beard would be double in length before you’d make an appearance, brother!” Dís hollered from her seat upon one of the many rugs laid out for comfort. She was always in a mood to rib her brother in regards to the happiness he’d found in the arms of his diminutive mate.

“And I’m surprised you have made an appearance at all, sister!” Thorin shouted back in retort, causing Bofur, the lady Dís’ recently declared intended, to turn almost as red as the fire that blazed before the merry band of travelers.

“And you, my fair Mister Baggins,” Dís patted the open space beside her. “Come, rest your wooly feet beside me. I hope his majesty hasn’t used you cruelly after the many weary miles we have traveled this day.”

Bilbo’s bright, happy laugh sounded like the silver bells heard in Dale on feast days. Sitting next to the sister he’d been waiting for his whole life, he leaned close, as if to speak in confidence, but loud enough for all to hear.

“We have a hard, strict rule, your brother and I; food first, all else is held in promise for later.”

The laughter was loud and joyful and much too good to hear that Thorin completely overlooked the fun being made at his expense. Anyway, what did the title of king mean when seated amongst kin? He did, however, clear his throat, gaining everyone’s attention, and laid a possessive hand on Bilbo’s knee. “The important word in that statement being _promise_.”

Dis took a draught of her wine and laid an arm around the hobbit’s shoulders, before giving him a kiss on the cheek. “It is beyond my understanding how such a dear creature as yourself could have found himself tethered to a storm cloud such as this one.”

“Am I not sitting right here, sister? I can hear you.” Thorin sputtered, with mock exasperation. The bantering that had been well-known throughout the mountain kingdom when they were young, had returned to the royal siblings’ tongues almost immediately upon being reunited, as if a dragon had never cast them from their home, long, long ago. He smiled as a soft, pale hand, bearing a single gold and sapphire ring, rested upon his thigh and slid down the inner curve.

“The earth needs rain to bring forth all manner of that which is green and good.” Bilbo explained to Dís, “The storm cloud is just as welcome as the sun, and both are to be found in this dwarf. I would have him no other way, sister. Truly, I would not. Not for all of the buttered buns in the Shire.”

This brought a rousing cheer from the growing number of those in attendance, all of them dwarves traveling to the Iron Hills as part of the first official visit of Thorin II, King Under the Mountain, to his cousin Dain, a close friend and ally with whom much blood had been shed during the battle to reclaim the kingdom. Dain had also provided many strong dwarrow hands and backs, in those early days after the battle, in aid of the cleanup and the beginning of the restoration of Erebor to its former glory. This was the first journey Thorin and Bilbo had taken together since that first adventure, two years previous. Two years that felt like ten times that.

Dís clapped her hands amidst the cacophony and shouted. “Wine for the king and his prince! And music! We want to make merry!”

“Is there to be none for us, mum?” Kili came up behind his mother, dropping to his knee to place a kiss on her cheek. Dís patted his, unable to hide the proud smile that graced her lovely countenance.

“You are young and hale,” Dis reminded her youngest, “Fetch it yourself, child! And can you see that the platters are soon to arrive? The king and his are hungry and waiting, as is your sweet lady. Tauriel! Bless me lass, come! Sheath your blades and leave the guards to do their duty. Sit!”

Tauriel, who had spent the day’s journey riding ahead with the scouts, surveying the land for any potential threat to the peaceful band of travelers, took her place on the rugs with dwarrows who were now family, a very happy benefit to accepting Kili as her husband. Any reservations the king might’ve had regarding elves were not shared by his sister. Dis had embraced the she-elf as a daughter from the moment they met, never once questioning her son on his choice for wife, just as she hadn’t questioned the love her brother had for the pretty little bare-footed fellow. Her boys were in love and happy, which is all she had ever wanted for them. It was a happiness that had been extended to her as well, ever since a miner, with a twinkle in his eye and honey on his tongue, asked her to dance that first night after her long journey home from the Blue Mountains. It was this miner who took her hand and pressed it to his lips.

“I’m going to go help the lad, my darlin’, for I’m fair well starving. Kili! Wait for me!” And Bofur hopped up and over to join his son-to-be. It wasn’t long before their voices were lifted up in song, a rather colorful ditty extolling the pleasures of swimming with hairy little women.

It had barely been a blink before a steady stream of dwarrows bearing magnificent platters of succulent meats, soft warm flatbreads, and all manner of glorious things that grow up out of the ground, made their appearance to a hearty _Huzzah_! Room was made on the rugs for the bounty and before very long, the sounds emanating from the travelers included tones of unmistakable joy only a delicious, much appreciated meal can bring forth.

Bilbo dug right in with the kind of enthusiasm one would expect from a hobbit who had missed second breakfast as well as afternoon tea and a few other meals besides. Not that that he was being starved, the poor dear, while the company moved northward. It had been decided that stops should be kept to a minimum so as to lessen the travel time, so most mid-day meals and snacks would have to be enjoyed in the saddle. This is why Poppy, Bilbo’s stout, surefooted little plug of a mare that Thorin had gifted him, carried a pack filled with all manner of delightful treats; nuts, dried meats and stone fruit, as well as assorted hard sweets made by the confectioners of Dale whose skills were on par with or, in some cases Bilbo had to admit, exceeded those of the candy makers in the Shire. As much as he did take advantage of this ample store to placate the demands of his stomach, there was no quieting the need to sit and rest and take a proper meal, one that included as much good company as it did meat and wine.

Bilbo took a bite and closed his eyes. Roast lamb, juicy and tender with just a hint of rosemary, took command of his senses of taste and smell and, for a moment, everything else faded into the distance.

“Is it to your liking?” Thorin’s voice was in his ear like a warm fog, and he nodded, opening his eyes to see his husband watching him, lips shaped into a satisfied smile. He nodded.

“It is delightful. Truly...” Leaning over, Bilbo quickly kissed a spot of sauce from the corner of Thorin’s mouth. “I don’t think I’ve ever tasted anything so delicious.”

A deep chuckle rumbled, breaking the spell the lovers were weaving around themselves. “Ye say this about every meal, Mister Baggins.” Dwalin squinted, pointing an accusatory piece of bread at the hobbit. “Ye cannae prefer this simple scran to that of the king’s table?”

A slight shift, and Thorin’s hand came to rest on Orcrist. “Are you accusing your prince of lying, cousin?” He asked, laying on the menace as a manner of teasing his relation.

Dwalin sat up tall, his hands on his knees, shaking his head. “Nae, cousin! Don’t be daft! I would ne’er, and ye know it well. I merely suspect the laddie of being in love with ye, the poor wee thing.”

Bilbo raised a hand, in surrender, and laughed. “Guilty, Mister Dwalin, on all counts. It is true, every meal I take with...” Bilbo felt his hand being lifted by one much larger, thicker, the skin rough and calloused. It was the dearest, most precious hand he’d ever known, and he gripped it, tight. “...with this one is more...glorious...than all that came before.” He looked at Thorin just in time to receive a kiss on his mouth, a deep, passionate kiss, and he raised his free hand to lay on a whiskered cheek. The cheers and whistles that celebrated this open display of affection no longer made him blush the way they had, back in those early days after the battle when hearts were laid bare of all they contained and a decision had been made to stay and help rebuild a kingdom while also building a life together. Any embarrassment he might’ve once experienced had been replaced by the love and appreciation he felt for those he now considered family.

“ _Ghivashel_.” Thorin murmured, as Bilbo raised his face to press a kiss to the scar that sliced down through his love’s forehead, bisecting an eyebrow and narrowly missing a gloriously blue eye that looked upon him with what seemed like all the love in the world. With his mind’s eye, Bilbo could still see it, the wound, when it was fresh and angry, and the possibility had existed that Thorin would leave this world, leave him behind to face the remaining days of his life alone. That had also been when he had touched Thorin’s bare hands for the first time. Those thick fingers had gripped his tightly, to the point of pain, as if they were afraid they’d never find him again should they let go. And they had held on until exhaustion had relieved their master of consciousness. Those hands he held, and would continue to hold until it was time for one or the other to move on from this world.

With the sun sinking in the west, torches were lit and the merry band broke into story and song. To anyone present, it would seem to them as if a dwarf, albeit beardless, of old and noble lineage, sat to the King’s left, wearing the beads of the house of Durin and receiving stolen kisses. And Bilbo...well...he had almost forgotten what it meant to be a hobbit of very good family with an unimpeachable reputation. Not that he no longer loved the feel of the sun on his face, grass beneath his toes, or a nicely packed pipe of the South Farthing’s finest...living under stone could not and would not ever take that away from him. But the thing in him that had yearned to see mountains and lakes, for adventure where swords replaced walking sticks, had found the home - the true home - it had always desired. What made it all even better was those he had chosen to spend his life with sat around him, happy and content, singing and smoking, as they deserved, instead of dirty, exhausted, and scared as was often the case on that first journey east.

An arm wrapped around his shoulders, and Bilbo leaned into Thorin’s side, his head coming to rest on a sturdy shoulder. He couldn’t help yawning, feeling sleep wrap its gossamer cloak about him. This, too, was a difference from his last journey that he quite appreciated. No longer did he have to curl up, cold and wanting, on the hard ground, for he now had what he had wanted - Thorin - to keep him safe, to keep him warm. To love him.

And he gave what he received.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading!
> 
> I hope the rest of your summer is delightful and, if you're here on the West Coast, smoke free.


End file.
